


altering life by holding it still

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hei Briskeby Videos (SKAM), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Slice of Life, but it's not an underlying theme — just a few thoughts here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: The first picture Mikael ever took is hanging in a neatly ordered collage above his bed.The first picture Mikael ever took is of Adam.





	altering life by holding it still

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :)
> 
> This is for Theresa ❤️ Her beautiful art for the skam reverse bang can be found [here!](https://koedder-du.tumblr.com/post/176833708909/altering-life-by-holding-it-still-by)

The first picture Mikael ever took is hanging in a neatly ordered collage above his bed. All of the photos have been printed and trimmed to precision—perfect squares in a line with equal spaces between them. There are some artsy ones he took while traveling, some funny ones of the squad taken on his phone with a selfie stick. Half of them are merely for the aesthetic and perfectly executed: they follow the rule of thirds, the lighting is flawless. And half of them are memories composed without an afterthought. 

This first one, though, happens to be placed in the very center, and while some of the others come and go—the collage a living and breathing work—this one always stays.

The first picture Mikael ever took is of Adam.

•

“You go first!”

Mikael is barely six years old, winding up the back of the disposable camera his mom bought for him. It’s ocean blue and sunshine yellow and _waterproof,_ which Mikael is way too excited about. Him and Adam have their life vests and goggles on, but they’re only knee deep in the water, muddy sand beneath their feet.

“No, you go first,” Adam argues, too afraid to put his head under but not too proud to pretend he isn’t. He has his arms barely crossed over his life jacket, and he probably thinks he looks tough but Mikael just thinks he looks like a big dork.

Hesitant, Mikael uses his free hand to hold his nose. He takes a big breath in before squeezing his eyes, dunking his head in the water for only a second. It’s icy cold. “See,” he says, popping back up, teeth chattering. “It’s not scary.” And it’s not—the water runs through his long hair down his back and it actually feels kind of nice. If anything, he’s quite proud of himself.

“I’m not scared,” Adam mumbles, and in the end he dunks his head in, too, gasping when he comes up like he’s held his breath for a lot longer than a second.

Which makes Mikael laugh, of course, because it’s just water—and Adam is acting like it’s lava or something. “So can we go further out now?” He asks, impatient. He’s got his eyes set on the floating orange safety rope only a few more meters out, right before the buoy. 

“Fine,” Adam grumbles, and they take a few more steps until their life jackets keep them floating, their legs kicking in the current.

“Ready?” Mikael asks, the viewfinder of the camera already pressed against his goggles.

Adam nods, and without warning, dunks his head under. But Mikael’s so eager it only takes him a second to follow, clicking the shutter button while Adam makes a scrunched up face below the surface of the water.

•

After school on Mikael’s eleventh birthday, Adam gets him a polaroid camera.

“I’m not sure if it works,” he says nervously. “I got it at the flea market.”

Mikael is too excited to listen, really. He’s marveling at the rainbow stripe down the center, the egg white shell, the red shutter button, the weight of it in his hands. It looks like one of the _cool_ ones—the retro-y vintage ones. It’ll be a bummer if it doesn’t work, sure, but it’s his favorite gift he’s gotten so far regardless. 

(Mainly it’s his favorite gift because Adam gave it to him.)

And if it doesn’t, well, at least it will look cool on the shelf above his dresser.

Mikael flings his arms around Adam—his long hair tucked behind his ears, his goofy grin smiling over Adam’s shoulder. He feels soft and big and warm, and Mikael holds on for just a second longer because it feels really nice to hug his friend.

“Mik,” Adam grumbles uncomfortably, patting his back a little hesitant.

Mikael lets go. “You forgot the film, stupid.”

The joke lightens the tension—a tension Mikael hasn’t quite felt before—and he wonders where it came from. Maybe it’s the way Adam said his name, like he felt it too. He doesn’t spend a moment longer thinking about it, though—he’s glad it’s gone.

Adam chucks something at him, and it hits Mikael square in the face before bouncing into his lap.

“Ow!” Mikael rubs his cheek, but he’s not mad. He says it more out of surprise than anything else. As payback, he just shoves Adam in the shoulder and purses his lips, which are met with raised eyebrows.

“You’re stupid,” Adam mumbles, and he gestures lamely to the box of film he just threw.

Mikael tears it open anxiously, pulling the switch on the side of the camera below the red shutter button to pop open the bottom front flap where the film should go. He carefully loads the cartridge in, closes it, and removes the dark slide that comes out with it.

“The moment of truth,” Mikael whispers, holding the viewfinder up to his eye and clicking the shutter before Adam can protest. The film slides out the front, and Mikael grabs it quickly, gives it a quick shake, and lays it face down.

Adam rolls his eyes so far back Mikael thinks they’ll be stuck there, and secretly wishes he took another picture before the moment passed. But Adam looks back at him, smiling with that half-annoyed smile he’s so used to.

“How long will it take?”

Mikael purses his lips. “You know, I don’t know.”

“Well I’m bored, let’s go outside.” Adam tugs Mikael up by the shoulder of his shirt, and he stumbles to his feet and is dragged out of his own room by his wrist.

They kick a football in the yard until the sun starts to set and Mikael’s mom calls them both inside for Maghrib. They eat chicken tagine followed by carrot cake with eleven candles, which Adam makes fun of Mikael for because _no one’s favorite cake is carrot cake._

“Mine is.”

Adam just eats the frosting.

After he’s left and Mikael has gotten ready for bed, he remembers the polaroid, still sitting face down on the hardwood floor by his rug. He flips it over apprehensively, another flip in his stomach when he’s met with Adam’s face half-smiling back at him.

•

When Mikael is fifteen he gets his first cell phone.

“Are you going to get instagram?” Adam asks. He’s already had a phone for a year. In fact, he’s scrolling through something right now, not bothering to look at Mikael when he says it.

Humming in indifference, Mikael just shrugs his shoulders. “Sure,” he decides. “How do I do it?”

“Here.” Adam snatches his phone from his hands, taps a few times, and then returns it. “Just follow the steps and make an account.” He’s back to his phone, typing something. Mikael knows he’s been texting with some girl lately, but he doesn’t know much more than that. Actually, he heard the rumor from Elias, and the fact Adam told Elias and not him puts him off a little. And he’s confused on whether he just wants to know the details or if he wants Adam to confide in him. 

Rather mechanically, Mikael makes an account, blank profile picture and blank feed staring back at him. He follows some suggested people—celebrities, contacts in his phone. He doesn’t bother to come up with any sort of cool username or bio. “Okay, I made one. Now what.”

“Now you post something,” Adam deadpans. “Here.” For once, he puts his phone down and smiles so animatedly it’s bordering on hilarious. “Take a picture of me.”

Mikael feels it again. That tension. The one he first felt on his eleventh birthday and hasn’t really stopped feeling when Adam smiles at him like this—toothy and goofy and just for him. The problem with this tension is that he has no idea what to do with it. It’s big and busy and _heavy_ and if Mikael could pick it up and throw it away he would, but he can’t. When he feels it cramp through his muscles, it’s all he feels. When he feels it spark thoughts in his brain, he can’t keep them from looping.

He focuses. In the app, Mikael positions the camera just right and snaps a photo. The filters are dumb, so he doesn’t add one. “Should I add a hashtag?”

“Man crush monday.”

“What?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “You still have so much to learn,” he murmurs—more to himself than anything. “Okay. So. There’s—” he holds up one finger, another one in succession as he starts to list: “#mancrushmonday. #transformationtuesday. #womancrushwednesday. #throwbackthursday. #flashbackfriday. #shoutoutsaturday. #selfiesunday.” He waves his hand in the air, as if there are more days in the week.

“Okay…” Mikael trails, his eyebrows raised along with the corner of his lip. Something about Adam being basic as hell like this always makes him laugh. “So you want me to post a picture of you and tag it ‘#mancrushmonday’?” Whether he knows it or not, he’s teasing him.

Adam’s cheeks go a little pink, like maybe he thought he was being smooth or something, and he turns his snapback forwards, as if to hide them. “It’s just a joke,” he mumbles, focusing back to his phone.

Mikael does it anyway. And less than a minute later there’s already one like on the photo.

From Adam.

•

Mikael is seventeen when he starts going to the gym.

Not willingly, of course. He goes because Elias and Yousef and Mutta goes. Because Adam goes.

And they all go because _girls._ Which seems to be all they ever talk about anymore—seems to be the answer to every unrelated question.

_“Why do girls dig you so much, dude?”_

_“Because I actually have muscles.”_

And that was that. So now Mikael is bench pressing barely anything with an unenthusiastic, impassive expression mixed with a grunt as he lifts the last set up over his head and rests it on the rack.

“Nice, bro,” Adam says rather mechanically—but Mikael will just chalk it up to him being out of breath—patting his back as they maneuver in the small space to trade places. He adds some more weight to each side and redoes the clamps. Technically, Mikael isn’t the best spotter for him, since he can’t lift nearly as much as Adam can, but neither of them are a match for Elias or Yousef or Mutta, flinging around the free weights like they’re having the time of their lives.

Adam fans his face before sitting down on the bench, bringing up the opening of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. In a last-ditch effort, he loses it altogether, flinging it over his head towards his water bottle at his feet.

Mikael holds his breath. Closes his eyes. He remembers this familiar tension riling in him like a bad dream—only this time it creeps up in a way that feels deep and _hot._ And yes he’s at the gym but this heat permeates him to the core. He feels it in his toes and shins and work its way up until his whole body kind of tightens. But not in a stiff way, which is what he’s expecting, which is what he’s used to. It’s almost as if his entire body gives a quick, tense pulse. Like all of the blood in one single heartbeat decides to be thick and heavy.

And then there are too many thoughts rolling through his brain that don’t make sense once that blood seems to reach his brain. Some of them are questions that start kind of like _why am I not interested in girls the way Adam is interested in girls—_ and some of them are fears that start kind of like _maybe I don’t even like girls—_ and some of them make no sense because _if I’m not into girls because I’m into…_

And then there are the truths, and they are quiet, and they contain Adam’s name but Mikael does not let them surface. Not right now.

Adam lies down on the bench, his arms lifted up to grip the bar, and Mikael has seen him shirtless a million times but something right now is different. Something inside him feels different.

“Wait, will you take a snap for my story?” Adam sits up and pats around for his phone before digging it out of his shorts. He flings it up to Mikael, who almost drops it as it bounces from one hand to another.

“Candid?” Mikael asks, but Adam has already begun lifting the bar and bending it back, upper arms tight and steady to work his triceps. Mikael snaps a photo, and, because he can, adds some stupid stickers of unicorns and butterflies with a caption in pink reading _#swole_ just for the irony. He taps to post it on Adam’s story, glancing at all of the sent and received snaps from girls’ names he sort of recognizes.

He sends it to himself, too—takes a screenshot on his own phone and watches Adam’s cheeks get red when he sees the notification.

•

Mikael is nineteen when they film their first Hei Briskeby video.

“We need like, an actual camera, guys—”

“Have you seen the good youtubers? They’re not filming on an iPhone—”

“They have like lights and sound stuff and scripts—”

“Yeah and the intros! They’re all like, ‘hey guys it’s me again—’”

The boys are talking over each other on the couch at the Bakkoush house, crammed together like sardines. It’s kind of snowballed from an earlier conversation this morning that stemmed from, go figure, how to pick up girls.

“So are we doing this?”

“Who has money?”

“You like cameras,” Adam nudges Mikael in the ribs, kind of says it just for him, then puts his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. Doesn’t let go.

He’s been like this, lately—touchy. Throwing his arms around his middle or picking Mikael up when the squad is on a late-night walk to some party Elias got them into. And Mikael is too weak to not indulge in it. He jumps on Adam’s shoulders and pulls him by the hand. Even when, a second later, Elias will mention some girl that won’t talk to him anymore and Adam will be disappointed for him, throwing in a comment about how “seriously hot” she is and making all of the tension Mikael knows cannot be a fluke anymore rot in his stomach like a bad apple—sour and bitter and too soft and spotty to be beautiful.

But then sometimes Mikael will think he’s crazy because this whole group is touchy-feely. And then he’ll feel even crazier because his skin only burns when it’s Adam who touches him.

The word _crush_ has surfaced to his mind several times, although he dares not to pair it with Adam’s name. Although sometimes, with Adam’s arm around him like this, the word spells itself out in his heart, cut there in cursive with a knife. 

And sometimes, it will appear in a desperate, late night google search:

_What does a crush feel like?_

_Why have I never had a crush before?_

_How do you know if you have a crush?_

“Yeah,” Mikael nods back at him, and lifts his arm on the far side of the couch to reach up and grab Adam’s hand draped over his shoulder, toying with the string of his hoodie. “So?”

“We could go pick one out,” Adam shrugs, and he gives Mikael’s hand a quick squeeze before standing up decidedly, cutting the overlap of conversation with an equally decided voice. “Mikael and I are going to Elkjøp to pick out a camera because he’s a nerd and will know what to get.”

Mikael can’t help but smile. The sentiment sounded a lot more like teasing than an insult. He hops up from the couch and follows Adam outside with a quick wave to the rest of the boys, who keep talking over each other about ideas and scripts and, unsurprisingly, girls.

They ride the tram to the store and make their way to the back—past the TVs and the furniture towards the phones and the tablets and the cameras. There’s a display that has them on the far end. Little, digital ones that really aren’t any better than the latest cameras on a phone up to the big guys—the DSLRs and the ones with fancy lenses.

“Look at this,” Adam marvels, and Mikael kind of loves when he’s away from the boys. Loves the way he lets his eyes go wide and loves the way he lets his voice relax. There’s this wall around him that comes down—this macho attitude that almost seems to be a proven point more than just who he is—and although Mikael loves that there’s this version of Adam reserved just for him, he wishes he could be like this all the time. Or, moreover, wasn’t afraid to be like this all the time.

Mikael moves closer, back away from the cameras he hasn’t gotten to take a peek at yet to Adam, messing around with a tablet he darted straight for. “What is it?”

Adam has a stylus pen in his hand, drawing loops with no intention on the screen of the tablet, leaving a trail of rainbow in its wake. Mikael watches him more than he watches what he’s drawing. 

“Isn’t it cool?” Adam keeps his eyes locked on the screen.

“No,” Mikael says slowly, backing away so that his voice doesn’t follow him. He grabs the camera on the end of the display, lifts it as far as it will go with the attached mechanism that prevents people from stealing, and brings the viewfinder to his eye. “But look at this!”

Adam turns his head, and Mikael snaps the shutter, the flash bright and catching Adam with a trace of that awe he had.

“No, dude,” Adam starts, walking towards him and trying to take the camera from his hand. His voice is low playful with a hint of begging. Mikael is as successful as he can be trying to dodge him, the camera tied to the display. “Delete it.”

“No,” Mikael protests, turning himself to shield it. He presses the green arrow on the bottom of the display to view the library of taken photos, and snort-laughs when he sees Adam’s face. And really, it’s not that funny. He looks kind of cute—confused and soft and his lip is almost pulled up in a smile.

Which, of course, makes Adam fight harder to try and take the camera from him. Not that Mikael minds. His hands on his waist and over his shoulders and moving his hips to try and get around him don’t feel bad.

“Please,” Adam begs again, but it doesn’t seem like he means it.

“No! Now the whole world gets to see your beautiful face.”

It sounded a lot better in his head, the second before he said it. Mikael feels his cheeks get hot, the back of his neck, too. Adam kind of freezes behind him, and Mikael is too scared to turn around. So he puts the camera down, gathers the courage to, and feels his stomach tighten with that familiar tension when he’s met with Adam’s face, which might be redder than his own feels.

“So, this one, then?” Adam nods towards the camera.

And oh yeah, right. They were here to buy one.

Mikael bites the tip of his tongue, and they both seem to be suppressing a smile. They play on their lips—half raised corners of their mouths, laugh lines on their cheeks getting deeper. 

“Yeah,” Mikael huffs. “This one will work.”

•

Mikael is twenty-one when he can’t take it anymore.

They’re at an underground arcade—it’s dark and the neon lights give Mikael a headache. He’s gotten some weird looks for his painted nails and his long hair. It’s been maybe a year since he’s done more than trim it. It probably doesn’t help that it’s braided—neat and tight down the back of his head. In other words, he’s tired. He’s been tired. Every day feels like a front and he looks across the bar at Adam and it’s not _easy_ anymore. It’s not easy to enjoy his laugh or his smile or the things he says. Not like when they were kids. Not even like when they were teenagers.

He’s in love with Adam. He’s been in love with Adam before he knew what being in love really felt like and now—

Now he can barely look at him without feeling all of that tension spark his nerves like a spider web through his muscles. Whenever Adam puts his arm around him, calls him _Mik,_ has those soft eyes whenever it’s just the two of them—Mikael just falls harder.

He’s the only person Mikael wants to be with when he’s alone. The only person he wishes was next to him late at night. The only person he wants to hold. The only person he wants to kiss.

Mikael’s done pretending that’s not what he wants to do. Done pretending that he’s sick or that it’s not right or that it’s just a fluke. He feels like a time bomb, the last second not so mysterious anymore. Maybe next week. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight. He’ll either explode or implode. 

And the crazy thing is, Mikael doesn’t feel so crazy anymore. For thinking (or, rather, hoping) that this situation is multifaceted. That Adam might actually like him back. Because sometimes when Adam hugs him it stops being that because he doesn’t let go. They’re in between takes on the Bakkoush couch for Hei Briskeby and to not call it cuddling would be a lie. They’re editing late at night in Mikael’s room and Adam doesn’t _have_ to sit on Mikael’s lap, but he does. They’re drinking at a party and they’re not supposed to be and Adam stops flirting with all the girls and puts his hand in Mikael’s back pocket.

“Does anyone have enough money for the photo booth?”

They’re leaving in ten minutes to catch the tram. There’s a show downtown—some hip-hop artist Elias likes a lot. But right now they’re finishing their drinks and counting the remainder of their coins, seeing if they have enough to play one more game.

“I’ve got some,” Adam jingles the coins in his fist, raised above his head. He moves towards it, tucked away in the corner. There’s a dusty red curtain that separates the inside of the photo booth from the rest of the arcade, and somehow all five of them manage to cram themselves in there. (In reality, the booth is probably built for two.) Mikael climbs in last, shoved to the end so he ends up on Adam’s lap.

Whose arms find their way around Mikael’s waist, holding on to him tight because touchy-feely isn’t out of the norm. It exists simply to confuse him. Elias has his hand on Mutta’s thigh. Yousef has his head resting on Mikael’s shoulder.

And he feels it—that tension. Because of Adam. But he also feels something warm and safe. And if he never tells him, maybe that’ll be okay—because he has this. Mikael has all of his friends. And if he were to lose them, all because he’s willing to risk something with Adam—

God, he doesn’t want to think about that. And yet, if he had to choose—if someone told him to make the final call, Adam or the rest of them; it says something that Mikael’s drawing a blank. Can’t make that split decision.

The first flash goes without Mikael realizing they even put the money in. The booth isn’t very well taken care of—the buttons on the display are worn and the screen that previews the group has a crack in the corner. A countdown from ten tells them when the next picture will take—it looks like they get four altogether.

The seconds go fast. Adam rests his chin on Mikael’s shoulder and Mikael can both feel the stupid, big and cheesy grin he’s put on as well as see it on the screen in front of them. Despite feeling tired—done—seeing it brings a smile out of Mikael as well. And he’s not looking at the camera, he’s looking down and over towards Adam when the second flash goes.

The boys rearrange. Yousef is making a stupid face, his long legs sprawled out along all of them. Mutta puts his eye up close to cover the corner of the camera, and Elias is somehow upside down. 

Adam kisses Mikael on the cheek. It’s sloppy and wet and overly animated. The worst is that Mikael has, what, six seconds to react to it and five seconds now to enjoy it. He brings his opposite arm up to cradle Adam’s face and smash his lips closer into his cheek, which he feels part in a smile against his skin when the third flash goes.

The time bomb inside Mikael feels literal when he watches ten turn into nine and then nine turn into eight on the screen before the last picture takes. That decision, to either explode or implode, is on the horizon speeding at him way too fast.

But Mikael is twenty-one and he can’t take it anymore. 

So he explodes. 

He feels the smile on Adam’s lips fade on his cheek, and before it is gone completely, Mikael turns his head to find those lips with his own when the fourth and final flash goes. Just for that last second, pulling away before maybe any of the other boys noticed. Pulling away but not a lot, still close enough to Adam that when their eyes meet, everything is double and blurry from the headrush.

And weirdly, in the distance, like a ringing in his ears, Mikael hears some cheering. A telltale _whoop_ from Mutta. A soft _awh_ from Yousef. And Adam kisses him back, and again. Quicker than the flash of the shutter; that tension dissolves and develops, just like film.

**Author's Note:**

> hello you who made it to the end of this little thing. I hope you liked it ❤️ you can talk to me on [tumblr](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/) if you want!


End file.
